


dastardly deeds & deadly delights

by Destructive



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23523238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destructive/pseuds/Destructive
Summary: To defeat the Betrayer Gods once and for all, the Prime Deities closed the doors of the Divine Gate, locking themselves away from the mortal realm. With them they took their divine influence, and the boons granted to those that walk the lands of Exandria. With them, they took magic.Exandria has evolved since the Calamity. They've made strides in technological advancements, and in their society as a whole. But the age of Dissonance was never meant to last. The Divine Gate has cracked, and magic is leaking back into the mortal realm.Beauregard Lionett learns this the hard way.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	1. bastard of knowledge

Breathe in. _It’s so hard to think with the beating of your heart echoing in your head._ Breathe out.

Breathe in. _Move forward._ Breathe out.

Breathe in. _Focus on the mission._ Breathe out.

Breathe in. _Move forward._ Breathe out.

Breathe in. _**Move forward!**_ She takes a step.

And exhales.

She can do this. One step at a time, she can move forward, move out, move beyond the building and into the unknown. She can—

“Beauregard?”

She doesn’t have to. She’ll turn, and things will be okay, and she can go back to her studies and lounging in the training hall and flicking paper balls at the nearest member of the Archive. Things are going to be okay.

Her shoulders lock up involuntarily, and she slowly swivels on her heel to face towards the warmth of the building. Towards the welcoming gaze of her tutor.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

Dairon’s face is a mask of disappointment, of rage, of disgust, of all these things that Beauregard has come to recognize so well. It’s funny how, despite all of their differences, her blood and her home have that face in common. She wonders, briefly, if maybe her father and Dairon had met for a meal at a nearby inn to exchange techniques, sipping tea and cruelly snarling at each other before offering critique on how best to twist one’s eyebrow to show others that they are beneath you.

She doesn’t flinch away from the sound or motion of the slamming door, too familiar with it to be surprised. And just like that, she’s abandoned.

The outside is a blinding white that shifts as individual flakes fall from the sky, landing softly on the pillowy ground. It would be beautiful, if not for the sharp chill of the air around her, and the knowledge ( _knowledge, knowledge_ ) that only the harshest winters brought snow down to Zadash, and people always, always died during harsh winters. The snow seemed tainted by the thought, and as she turned back to face the world, Beauregard would later swear that she saw blood splattered lightly across the white banks.  
But no matter, because now she has no choice. There could be no hesitation when the only way to move is forward. Failure was not an option, not when this was the only way her life would lead to anything, here in the towers of Zadash. She would return, no matter the cost, no matter the hours and the days and the work it would take. She had to.

And so, Beauregard Lionett made the only choice left to her. She bit her lip and tightened her grip on the strap of her bag and began to move forward, through the snow, out of the Archive of the Cobalt Soul, through the gates surrounding the building, and out into the thoroughfare of Zadash.

It took only a few minutes of walking before the cold of the day was filled instead with the warmth of the market. Even in the winter, or perhaps because of it, people bustled through the streets, between buildings and through stalls as vendors shouted out which goods they had for sale and which were fresh and what was needed to make it through the next few weeks, conveniently always listing what they were selling as necessary. The marketplace certainly wasn’t fancy, and the cityfolk knew that well enough to embrace it. There was no guise of luxury, just that of necessity, which worked well enough for most everyone.

Beauregard ducked beneath a set of wooden boards being hefted up and out of a stall by a burly looking dwarf and twisted around a group of humans bartering with another stall owner, letting the flow of the crowd take her down the street. Hold on. A dwarf? In Zadash? She turned quickly, eyes searching the crowd, running quickly over every warm body that filled the street. Humans, elves. Humans, elves. Humans, elves, wooden boards bobbing above heads. Wooden boards that lead down into the arms of a dwarf. Did that count as weird phenomena? The strange and unusual, slowly encroaching on the Empire and its inhabitants… Why the hell not.

Plowing back against the flow of the street was harder than it seemed, but she was agile and was stubborn enough to push back, through small gaps and along the wall, all the while keeping a close eye on the boards ahead of her. The dwarf moved left, right, behind the stalls and through the road with a precision that Beauregard was really wishing she had right now. She just had to focus. _Don’t think, just move_.

And she did just that, trailing the dwarf further down the street, back towards where she came, until the wooden boards disappeared around a corner and into an alleyway ahead. She had no choice but to do the same, moving quickly through the last stretch before the buildings opened up. Surely with fewer people in the alley, she would be able to catch up, ask the dwarf what they were doing here, how they got through the walls— shit. There they went again, back behind a building, the boards disappearing just beyond her sight once more. She moved quickly and rounded the corner, expecting to find the dwarf just ahead, and being surprised when they were once again turned down an adjacent alley.

It continued like this for a few minutes; she would race down along the building and turn to find that the dwarf was still ahead enough to round another corner before she could reach them. Again and again, it repeated, down a maze of white, untouched alleyways and quiet streets and between buildings that she didn’t recognize until her lungs were burning and her legs were weak. How could a _dwarf_ move that fast? No matter. Just once more, and she would catch them. She breathed deep and sprinted forward, turning a corner to find… Nothing. Nothing but a door into a building that she had never seen before, in some ramshackle part of the city that seemed entirely too empty.

Shit.

_At least it’ll be easy to corner the dwarf now._

Her eyes trailed up the building, landing on a sign that had no words, and instead was carefully decorated with the intricate image of a dripping faucet, engraved with a lion’s head along the spout. Very descriptive.

Beauregard placed one hand on the doorhandle, muscles tense. The eerie silence around her seemed to be further enhanced by the fresh snow, still falling slowly onto her skin, ready to bury her with the rest of the city. If she was met with a fight on the other side of this door, she may well lose a finger to a combination of the cold and the impact of her fist meeting some poor sap’s face.

She took one last slow look around her, just to make sure she wasn’t being watched. But instead of finding any stray eyes resting on her, she found an almost picturesque view of the Archive in the gap between two buildings just across from her. The building was distant, but still tall enough to stand out along the skyline of the city. Three great pillars rose up and out of the central spire, and while not nearly as large as the Tri-Spire that Zadash had become known for, it was still a sight to behold. Trailing up the Archive were a series of shoots and mechanical workings that could be spotted even through the distance and the snow, a great and stunning beast of technical feats that was constantly shifting, the cogs always turning and adjusting. She could almost hear the dull _clink_ of gears turning from here.

There were rumors that the many pipes leading up the length of the Archive were all part of one great experiment crafted by the monks with the goal of summoning an ancient monster from the times of magic back into this world. As if. Beauregard knew better than to believe the words of the average misinformed citizen. If only because she had used these pipes herself before today, to transfer messages between floors of the Archive. Scrolls would be shot through the pipes at a blinding speed, making communication and studying that much simpler, with some very clever use of… air? Force?

Okay. So she didn’t really know how it worked, but what mattered was that the building was certainly not part of some old experiment and was, definitely, just kind of stupidly complex for a very simple convenience. Stupid and complex. Something that rang true for all of the Cobalt Soul, it seemed.

Stupid-Complex. Stuplex. Stupid enough to want to suplex. Ha! She ought to save that term for when she returned, so she could tell the other monks exactly what she thought of them in her own pointless words. Beauregard almost let out a laugh at the image of Zeenoth’s face when she said that (this would be, of course, tastefully followed up by her suplexing him, which she doubted would put him much in her favor, but it’s not like he enjoyed her company to begin with).

Focus.

Cold hand on cold metal on soft door on cold hinges on building perhaps filled with dwarves, of all things. She steeled herself and pushed forward, out of the snow and into…

A perfectly normal inn. Quiet, save for a soft conversation between a group of humans in the back corner, but otherwise… normal. A few basic tables set up around the main room. A bar. Stairs leading up to what she could only assume were a number of rooms… Beauregard’s eyes skip quickly around the room, but find nothing out of the ordinary. Surely someone must have seen _something_ , and surely that someone must want to report it to another person of vague enough authority, and _surely_ being a member of the Cobalt Soul gave her grounds to ask.

She took the opportunity to tighten the deep blue sash around her waist, fidgeting only slightly with the frayed edges.

Moving further into the inn, now recognizable as _The Leaky Tap_ , based on the sign above the bar, she waves a hand and steps towards the woman carefully cleaning a mug behind the counter.

The woman blinks before responding with a soft, polite smile. “Hello. How can I help you?” 

“Yeah, hey, hey. I’m looking for the person that just walked in here? About yay high,” she says quickly, gesturing with one hand while scanning the room around her. “They had some planks with them or something.”

When her eyes finally rest back on the woman of the inn, she’s met only with confusion.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the woman says slowly, “but the only customers we’ve had in today have been those folks in the back. No one wants to travel with all the fighting happening… You’re the first person to come in within the last two hours or so.”

Shit.

This was working itself up to be a real shitty day. First she’s kicked out, and now she’s imagining free dwarves in Zadash. Fuck.

“Cool, cool, cool,” Beauregard mutters before leaning in close to the woman. “I swear to Ioun, if you’re fucking with me, I’ll— I’ll— I’ll tear up this whole establishment. Board. By. Board. With my teeth.”

The woman seems more confused than afraid, but nods quickly anyhow, and after a few seconds of direct eye contact, Beauregard decides that she’s intimidating enough to scare the woman into compliance.

So now she’s stopped at an inn in Zadash with no idea where to go next, a mission that she doesn’t know how to complete, and no place to stay. Cool. Great. Fantastic. Oh, and of course, she’s seeing things. The shots just keep coming, don’t they?

But what had she expected, anyway? That all the answers to her problem would just fall into her lap not ten minutes after she left the Archive, carefully presented in the form of a dwarf in _Zadash_? Wasn’t the point of this assignment to explore the world and get down and dirty with the dark parts of the underbelly to find out what was going on? There definitely wouldn’t be anything to find in an old inn within one of the largest and most protected cities in the Empire. No, she would have to go far outside of the reaches of the guard and the Cobalt Soul. Rural towns with strange happenings, explore caves in the wilderness where creatures seemed to be acting oddly, that sort of thing. Somewhere out—

“Excuse me—”

Beauregard jumps out of her thoughts, and almost out of her skin, too, when a hand rests on her shoulder. She turns quickly, already clenching her fist in preparation for a fight. She always knew the day would come when she asked the wrong questions outside of the Archive and that someone— oh. It’s just an old man. The old man from the back corner of the inn, as well as his three younger companions. Two men and a woman, each older than Beauregard herself, but certainly much younger than the man that was now touching her shoulder, having allowed his hand to be pulled as she turned.

“— I couldn’t help but overhear, you see, and if I recall, you are a member of the Cobalt Soul, correct? We’ve been staying here while studying the Archives for the last few weeks, and I’m not known to forget a face.” His face sags in strange places, and seems to be pulled taught in others, so even as he spoke, his mouth couldn’t help but to twist into a grin while his brows lower themselves into an almost perpetually present expression of anger.

“Yeah,” she says slowly. The man before her is dressed in loose, but clearly expensive robes. Someone of stature, staying in a rundown, simple inn was strange enough, but one that had three unarmed companions was stranger than that. There were no bodyguards, no proper guides, just the four humans who make up a rather odd group in these tense times.

His grip tightens on her shoulder and she glances between it and his eyes, which light up with excitement. “Fantastic. We’ve been looking for a personal escort to help us with our, ah, studies as of late. It seems that certain tomes that we are seeking are behind a special lock and key, if you would. Perhaps there is an arrangement we can come to?”

He wants to bribe her to get into the restricted section? She gives him a long, hard stare, watching his grin stretch as she considers it. His companions didn’t seem to have the same… enthusiasm. Looking towards them, each one seemed stiff and almost lifeless, staring beyond the walls of the inn and out into something that only they could see. Freaky. She turns her attention back to the old man.

“Who’s asking?”

“So you’ll help us?” He asks, ignoring her question and letting his is excitement grow by the second.

She frowns. “Sorry pal. I’m on a special assignment with strict orders to avoid any unnecessary sidetracking. Time is of the essence and all that.”

His demeanor shift at that, from a predatory hunger to that of mild curiosity. His grin fades away, but the shape of his face makes it seem as though he is still smirking at her. Beauregard decides right then and there that he has a very punchable face.

“Oh? And what type of assignment is that?”

“The secret kind,” she says, eyes narrowing now.

He finally pulls his hand off of her shoulder, waving it dismissively. “Just curious, of course. We are but servants of the Empire, always happy to help with missions of all kinds. Surely one of us should seek to gain something from this chance encounter. I’ve noticed that not many members of the Cobalt Soul journey around the city. Perhaps this was fate.”

“Right. ‘Course it was,” Beauregard says, rolling her eyes as she does, “and we’ll both help each other out and live happily ever after… Not sure that’s how it works.” Things were never that easy, she reminded herself. Answers won’t bump into you by chance. This is what the monks had drilled into her, that only hard work and dedication would yield any kind of results.

“Oh, but it could. You say you were looking for a dwarf?” He smiles at that, not with joy, but certainly with teeth. “Strange seeing one here, what with the rebellion in Crispvale. Are you investigating potential Crownsguard escapees, perhaps?”

He takes a step closer, teeth still bared and lips still twisted upwards. Beauregard is becoming more and more aware of how his body heat seems to ripple off of him in waves, how his ring seems to glint strangely in the inn’s light as he gestures slowly towards her with one hand. The world seems to close in around the two of them, and she can’t pull her attention away from him no matter how hard she tries. The edges of her vision begin to darken, until the only thing she can see is him.

“Or, perhaps, you’re looking into how the Empire could have possibly lost so many battles to guerilla tactics from a ragtag group of fighters with no weapons,” he continues. “Or why it was reported that the only thing left of the first wave of Crownsguard was a few piles of ashes. Truly a wonder, indeed, that lightning could have struck so close together so many times. And all one after the other.”

He leans closer and closer to her, until she can feel his hot breath on her, and she wants nothing more than to be outside again, to see the wondrous snow and feel her fingers freeze off, if it meant that she could get away from the disgusting heat of this man, who seems to take joy in how uncomfortable he makes her.

When she doesn’t respond, he takes that as a sign to keep going. “What is your name, girl?”

_You don’t have to answer him_. Just walk away. Report him to the Crownsguard. For what? For talking about the war? For freely discussing battles that were well known throughout the city? He hadn’t done anything worth reporting, and oh Ioun, she is opening her mouth to speak, feeling it pulled open by invisible strings as she stands in place, unable to run.

“Beauregard Lionett,” she chokes out.

“Hm. Well, Beauregard Lionett. A deal is a deal. I believe you’ll find that Nicodranas is particularly nice this time of winter. It’s much warmer, and I’ve heard of so many curiosities surfacing by the sea. Go, enjoy the beaches. Maybe you’ll find the solution to your problems there.” He leans back as he speaks, and finally, _finally_ , Beauregard can breathe again, and can spot the old man’s companions behind him. They’re looking directly at her now, seemingly filled with a sudden sense of purpose. Despite the heat, a shiver runs down her back.

“If you’re ever in the capital, do find your way to my abode. I’m looking forward to you repaying your debt.”

And with that, the group of humans moved past her, toward the door. Each one carefully steps around her, with the exception of one of the young men, who instead pushed directly into her and didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he moved. She would have threatened to punch him right then and there, if it wasn’t for how much she shook and how even just his touch seemed to burn her flesh in a way that simply wasn’t natural. What kind of group had she just gotten herself involved with?

As the door to the inn closed behind them, she was left to dwell on a number of things. Beauregard was foolhardy, but not stupid. She hadn’t said anything about a dwarf, not aloud, and certainly not to the old man that she had just met. And there was no way she would willingly give her name to someone like that. Would she? No… But she had, and now he knew who she was. What the hell was she doing?

Fuck, her shoulder ached. The man had a stronger grip than any old person she had met in her life.

The next question was whether or not she would listen to the strange man who seemed to ply her mind. There was no reason to, not really. She could shrug it off (the thought which made her shoulder pulse even harder) as the ramblings of a delusional guy who just wanted to mess with her. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened. And yet, she still found herself reaching into her pocket to pull out her change to see if she had enough for transportation and— 

There’s something in her pocket. Something heavy. Something that wasn’t there when she left the Archive. She closed her hand around its smooth surface and pulled it slowly from where it was hidden.

A rock?

A _glowing_ rock that pulsed slightly in her hand and seemed to beckon her into its depths.

Beauregard Lionett had been kicked out of the Cobalt Soul, had walked aimlessly for under an hour, and had found the answer to the question that she had been asking for months now. 

Magic was returning to Exandria.


	2. the artists formerly known as the exandrian gods

In the Age of Arcanum, magic had flowed freely from the veins of Exandria, the lifeblood of civilization. Cities floated through the sky with the help of the mages that lived within them. Creatures developed strange and unusual mutations to house and utilize the powers held inside of the world. Magic was a divine gift, something bequeathed upon the the denizens of Exandria by the gods that watched over them.

The world had grown accustomed to the use of magic upon its back, having known nothing else since the Founding, when gods had first seen fit to start etching enchanted runes into the soil. It was a peaceful time, of prosperity and development as the species of Exandria truly began to test the limits of possibility. Many cities would come to rise during this time, the populations of the world flourishing with their abilities to protect them from the dangers of the outside realms. Society began to take hold, and for a long time, things were calm.

Then mankind let greed take hold.

They turned against the gods that had given them this boon. They harnessed magic not for defense, but for assault, and directed these attacks towards their creators.

The creatures of Exandria weakened the hold of the gods upon the mortal realm, and with that came an opportunity. Ancient, dark creatures began to emerge from the immortal lands. The Betrayer Gods rose in power, unleashing torment upon Exandria and encasing the world in shadow. Populations quickly fell to the beasts that they had unknowingly set loose upon the world, and cities came crashing down throughout the land.

The gods, the ones that had given this gift of magic, now called upon their mortal servants to take heed, and to know that they were the benevolent Prime Deities, who would deliver them from suffering and into a bright, new, peaceful world.

When the Prime Deities went to war, they did so with the promise that the world would never again suffer the curse of an immortal foe. The dark creatures that had emerged from the Divine Gate stood their ground, wiping out Exandrian cities in great, sweeping blows. The two sides clashed in battles that would render the land lifeless beneath them, opening up new seas and pushing up new mountains beneath their feet.

The mages that had sought to take the place of the Prime Deities cowered beneath the might of gods at their full strength. Cities descended from the sky as the magic-weavers that held them aloft went into hiding, fearing that the Betrayer Gods would turn to them when seeking a new weapon to use against the Prime Deities.

Exandrians were left defenseless as the immortals raged across the land. Lives were taken by both sides, as thousands casualties became commonplace for each strike between the gods.

The effects rippled across the land. The divine powers of these beings decimated structures and rendered the natural formations of the land to ash. Mortal populations dwindled to less than a third of their previous numbers.

And still, the Prime Deities defeated the Betrayer Gods.

When they won, they set about fulfilling their promises. They repaired the war-torn land, though they would find that in the places where the Betrayer Gods held the most power, the soil had lost the ability to grow anything but decay. They did what they could. They pulled mountains up from the sea, decorating the world with new islands, new places for their creations to live and thrive. New rivers were carved into the land and vegetation would come to make a return. The world would hold life once more.

The land would know peace, they had whispered to any left standing.

What was not said was how they would assure this peace.

The Prime Deities took the ruined bodies of the Betrayer Gods and returned them to the immortal plane, knowing that it was only a matter of time before they regained their strength and spread havoc across the land once more. They did not tell their followers what they would do to tether the beasts to the other side of the Gate, instead promising that the mortals would never again be touched by immortal hand.

And then the victors, too, entered the Divine Gate.

The Archeart, the Deity of Arcana, would be the last to enter the Gate, the reason for which became apparent far too late. As they rested before the Gate, there was a great hum that could be heard throughout the land, into the sky, and deep below the ground. The mages that had survived the war through cowardice fell, with the creatures so embedded with magic that they could no longer escape it.

Firsthand accounts would vary from this point. Some say that all entities with ties to the unusual turned to dust, and that this dust ascended into the sky and flowed as one magnificent cloud for days before congregating as the first great rains of the new age, as one last act of generosity to those who survived. Others claim that there was no dust, no, but rather their bodies melted into the ground and left great large fields of grass and flowers in their wake.

While the truth of this matter is unclear, it became known by all who were left to roam the planet that only the mundane were left standing.

Then came the Final Sundering, though the true results would be left undiscovered until the accounts of archaeologists exploring the great seas of Exandria. This event would drain the magical wellspring of the planet, tearing tremendous canyons into the ocean deeps as Exandria itself expanded. The lands lifted from their places, as the Archeart ripped the last of the Arcana from within the body of Exandria itself.

The Archeart’s work finished, they would use their last act to heal the planet to the best of their ability and return the lands to their rightful places. And then they, too, entered the Gate. And the doors to the Divine plane closed behind them.

Thus ends the record of all known magical entities, objects, creatures, and land within Exandria. Any magical blood left within its inhabitants has laid dormant for hundreds of years, and is predicted to remain so until the end of time.

The land would spend the next two hundred years repairing itself where it could. It would be two dozen years after the war before crops would begin to grow once more, with the exception of places that seemed to house once-present magical entities, often flourishing in growth to the extent that it was difficult for citizens to maintain.

Without magic, Exandria’s denizens would seek new ways to advance their civilizations, turning to scientific technology that would help better their way of living. An expected result of the war was a collapse of kingdoms, and from their ashes would rise a new set of—

* * *

_Shit_. These words were much harder to read when they were this close. With a sigh, Beauregard once again removed the history book from her face, where it had fallen after another particularly nasty bump in the road.

Wagon wasn’t her preferred traveling method, seeing as how it lacked the amount of awe that came with an airship, but when one had only a few silver and a couple of well-toned muscles to spare, one did what they must. (And she must.)

And that was where she found herself, several days after her encounter with the man that she labeled Fuckhands McGee, as a favor to her shoulder, which had continued to ache for another full day. An unwilling vagrant, riding along with a caravan of land traders looking to restock their wares at the coast. Always in need of an extra hand to lift boxes and protect against the occasional ruffians, they had said (but only after she handed them what silver she had, and they insisted that it wasn’t nearly enough to cover the travel costs, but they were feeling generous).

They slept in taverns, stables, houses of friends whenever they could as they went. But sometimes they couldn’t manage, and the traders would pull out their bags of camping gear. She suspected, on nights like this, when the cold night air bit into her like an unholy creature straight from the frozen landscape of whatever hell was out there, that they had allowed her to hitch a ride as a walking bag of meat to help absorb some of the chill. The traders always insisted that she rest on the outer most parts of their huddle (something that she had initially objected to, but the thought of losing toes was too much and she quickly changed her mind) and let her take the brunt of the weather.

But she came of use more than once, and it was almost guaranteed that the traders were thankful that they had “hired” her, especially after she slammed the heel of her foot down on the head of another poor sap who just wanted to feed his family, but had the misfortune of trying to do so with the contents of the traders’ wagons. By the time they reached the edge of the Empire, facing the entrance to the Menagerie Coast, she had fought off over a dozen desperate thieves who had each wanted a taste of the fortune that the traders felt they had (not that it mattered if they were dead, which they would have been, if Beauregard wasn’t in desperate need of a ride).

It was on the second night of camping with them that she decided she _hated_ camping _and_ the trade of trading.

Living with the monks had never been this harsh, this cold. At least physically. Sure, they had beaten her around a bit, but it was never this unforgiving. She almost found herself wishing for the brutal treatment that they had given her when she arrived at the Cobalt Soul a few years prior. But she shrugged the thought out of her mind, having no choice, now that she couldn’t return without results. There was no use in remembering, no use in longing, no use in wanting so desperately to return that it ached.

No matter. Here she was, just a few minutes out from arriving in Nicodranas and the only thing she could think about was how nice it would be to have something to do besides read. You could only read the same words so many times before just the thought turns your brain to mush, and the history text was more grueling than anyone could imagine. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she did consider how funny it was that after the gods’ self-exile and their promise to end the suffering of Exandrians, their unwatched children went right back to killing each other. Nature had a sense of irony.

Outside of the text, it wasn’t as if she had brought a lot of entertainment with her, with space in her bag so precious and so much of it being taken up by the glowing stone, now covered in canvas to keep it hidden. Until she could study it, which she was determined to do. At… some point. Eventually.

(And who could blame her for her reluctance? Toying with the very foundation of reality wasn’t something she looked forward to.)

Someone cleared their throat just a few feet away from her, snapping her out of her thoughts. Beauregard gave a silent curse to manners and pushed herself up from where she was leaning awkwardly against the side of the wagon. Bertnard, one of the traders that she traveler with, gave her a coy smile from where he sat. (A clever, charismatic man, as one had to be in order to make it in the trading business, which he stated often enough to annoy.)

Then he gave a nod of his head past the horses pulling the wagon, out over and beyond the scattered buildings that surrounded them, and towards the great, giant walls that protected the inner workings of Nicodranas.

Beauregard, who had never stepped outside of the Dwendalian Empire, stared up in awe at what sat before her. She had tried so hard to pay it no mind as they had approached, but now that she could see it up close, she wished that she had seen how the arches rose up over the horizon and the top of the towers spread up into the sky from the distance.

The architecture was different than anything she had seen in Zadash. Whereas the inland city had buildings decorated with various types of woods, long, straight-edged design with the gears that ran the city piling on over any surface available, Nicodranas was… more. The gates were engraved with intricate patterns of waves overlapping windows that stretched into arches with the flow of the stone design, and everything seemed to curve into whatever was next to it. Time seemed to have frozen over Nicodranas, the architecture showing no change in period, as if the entire city had been designed by one person, and all in one day.

It was beautiful.

And then the traders guided the horses through the gates, with guards nodding them through, and Beauregard got her first look of the city proper.

The intricate waves persisted, almost as if the buildings themselves were being carried out to the sea that touched the western edges of the trade city. There was an intimate feeling to every nail and screw, a worn but well-cared for look to everything that the citizens had built. This was a place that saw so many different kinds of people as they moved in and out of the city with the tides, and it showed in everything, down to the smooth stones that made up the streets. Something warm resided here. Something that lived calmly, kindly, and without remorse.

This would be as good a place as any to start her search.

The bustle of this city was unlike any she had seen before, having been so used to that of an academic kind where every inhabitant was lanky and strange and took up as little space as the could, except when they saw something that they wanted. (And used to the life of a small town before that, though she would never say as much.)

Here, every person moved with an intense purpose, and each was carrying some type of good to another place. Even long-time residents seemed to have ingrained the trading nature into their daily lives, as every door around her opened and closed repeatedly as citizens moved in and out of stores and homes and inns.

And Beauregard loved all of it. She leaned forward, over side of the wooden wagon, finding an infectious energy to everything happening around her. _This is the type of city where adventures begin._

The traders steered the horses slowly over the streets, between the buildings, down further into the heart of the city and back out again, towards the docks that seemed to grow out of the sea itself. The sea that Beauregard had never laid eyes on before. In that moment, she made a decision to be an ocean kind of person for the rest of her life. Who knew that the sea was so _vast_? It went on beyond the horizon and stretched over everything she could see, shifting between every shade of green and blue. 

Had she not been entirely overwhelmed by everything happening since Dairon had first closed the door on her, she certainly would have been now. But she felt just as whelmed as before, so this time all she did was add _entranced_ to the list of words that could describe her.

By the time Bertnard was handing her a few pieces of gold as thanks for her protection, (lucky that she had come of use, or she would have nothing left, having given her savings to the men now paying _her_ ) she was only half acclimated to everything happening around her. And so she stood, right where the traders had left her with their goodbyes, at the docks. It was a few minutes before she could even manage to look away from the waters before her, and finally, _finally_ get to work.

It was midmorning, with quite some time before she would have to find lodgings for that night. She would wait to examine the stone somewhere private, where she would know for certain that there weren’t any stray eyes watching her. Might as well take a look around the city properly before diving into what information she had gathered so far. Which was not much.

Fuckhands McGee hadn’t given her much direction, besides the beaches of Nicodranas, and it wasn’t like she was really looking to jump head-first into whatever strangeness he had been alluding to. So instead, she’d see if she could dip a toe into it.

Beaches stretched across either side of the docks, but the docks themselves were anything but beachy, with wood and stone built into stalls and storage wherever there was room. Here would be as good a place to start as any. 

It was warm enough this far south to keep the seas from freezing over, which was good luck for her, because where else would a monk in a new town get information, if not the average dock worker or possibly sailor? With that thought, she stepped down one of the long roads of wood that lead to a magnificent ship decorated with every color one could imagine. A number of crewmen walked back and forth between the ship and the buildings further into the city as Beauregard watched.

By the time one of them noticed her, nearly an hour had gone by, and he approached her with a sigh. He was a lanky man with some kind of horrible disease, or maybe he hadn’t grown his sea legs yet, because his skin was a deep green that shifted to a yellow at his forehead. (Certainly not any kind of orc, because Beauregard was certain that they had tusks.) Poor guy.

But he held himself with some level of confidence, and was outfitted in clothes that had clearly been worn for a long while, and that gave Beauregard enough to know that he would work well as a first stop on her journey through the city.

“Can I help you?” He asked, with some kind of strange accent that she couldn’t place. His eyes traced over her, up and down. “Don’t seem like much of a sailing type, but if you’re lookin’ for work, you might be better off takin’ a gander at a ship that’s about to leave, not one that’s portin’ for a few days.”

As he spoke, the scar over his eyebrow twisted in a way that made Beauregard lift her hand up and pick at the scab around her own eye.

“Uh, no.”

He lifted an eyebrow at that, and folded his arms. “Alright,” he drawled, and then went silent.

And remained so.

And kept remaining so.

Shit. Had she missed some kind of cue? Was she supposed to speak here?

After a minute of staring at each other, he rolled his eyes and shift his weight to one foot. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for something— some kind of… thing. I’m not really sure what. But you’d know it if you saw it, probably. Sort of. I guess it depends on what you’ve seen before—” She spoke quickly, stumbling over her words and generally making a fool out of herself, because of course she did. “Look, have you heard any rumors? Any weird things happening?”

As an afterthought, she gestured to the blue sash around her waist to say _see, I’m Cobalt Soul_. Totally trustworthy.

The man paused again. He took a long, slow moment to look her over, this time with more of a discerning eye as he considered his response. She met his eye for a brief second, and she could almost swear that something moved in his pupil. (This was also when she realized that he was, in fact, some kind of orc. Humans don’t have yellow eyes, right?)

“What’s your name?” He asked.

Now it was her turn to pause. “Beau.”

“Fjord. Nice to meet you, Beau.” He reached a hand out to her, which she shook with the best smile that she could muster. Which must not have been much of a smile, because he gave her a strange look in return.

“How about you ‘nd I discuss this somewhere more private,” he continued and cast a glance back at the ship, where a sailor on the deck leaned over the railing to watch the two of them, “and we can get to know each other.”

* * *

Fjord lead her back through the city, winding his way around the streets without hesitation. Somehow, Beau must have found someone who knew the city like the back of their hand without so much as lifting a finger. Funny how things seemed to work out that way, almost like fate had— 

The two approached an old building— for the first time, Beau realized that this part of the city was _old_ , another era frozen in the center of something so grand— decorated in long, draping velvet curtains and gold paints. There was a quiet hum from the inside, the stained glass window open enough to let the sound of refined conversations cast out with the warm lamplight. It was entirely inviting, and based on the two large men standing by the doors, entirely too expensive for her plain clothes and five gold pieces.

Fjord must not have felt the same way, because he continued up the stairs without so much as a glance back towards her. The guards paid him no mind, but stared at Beau with intensity as she trailed quietly behind him.

When the guards make no move to keep her from entering, she walks into an almost blindingly bright room. If air itself could shine, it would be doing so in this very room. The entrance to the inn was a wide, open plan where everything that the lamplight touched was painted either white, gold, or a dazzling silver. Beau imagined it would have been tasteful design, if it didn’t reek of the snobby rich.

By the time she had taken it all in, Fjord was already seated at one of the small, round tables in the central dining area, being served a drink by a man in clothes fancier than any Beau had ever owned. She took the seat across from Fjord as quickly as she could, feeling the occasional glance of confusion hit her back from the other patrons of the establishment. Hard to imagine that it was common for a monk of the Cobalt Soul to be found in a place like… this.

“So,” Fjord said, “Beau. Welcome to the Lavish Chateau.”

“Right, cool, thanks, but quick question,” Beau said, a bit too fast. “What the fuck?”

In the short time that the two had been acquainted, Fjord had shown two expressions: blank, and thinking. With Beau’s question, and to her surprise, he broke out into a grin and gave a deep chuckle.

“Perks of the job. My ship deals in unique imports, and my captain entrusts me with the personal delivery of certain items. They tend to be the type that wealthy individuals are interested in, so I’m ‘round here every time we’re in port.

“Oh, and make no mistake,” he drawled, his grin stretching, “these are just my work clothes. I’m actually filthy stinkin’ rich.”

_Cool cool cool cool._

“Cool, cool, cool, cool.”

He leaned back in his chair, a smirk resting gently on his face. “So,” he said, with a nod towards her sash, “you’re with the Cobalt Soul. Mind tellin’ me why you’re interested in _weird things happening_?”

She bit her lip and silently cursed her inability to gather information without being asked so many questions in return. “I’m writing a paper. Y’know… Cobalt Soul stuff.”

“A paper? What on?”

“Nerd... stuff.”

He eyed her at that, not for the first time. With a sigh, he sat up in his chair and pulled himself close to her, his voice coming much quieter now. “Listen… the Lavish Chateau is one of the most secure buildings in this place. They care very deeply about the privacy of their staff and clients. Now,” he said, voice rising again, “I have information that might be of use for your paper. But I don’t know you, ‘nd I’m certainly not goin’ to give a stranger anything of use. But I’m always looking to make new friends. So make conversation with me, and lets see if we can’t get you learnin’ something new, alright?”

Ioun, her face itched. She reached her hand up and scratched at what was left of her scab again.

“Right, uh, okay. I’m... writing a paper on the history of magic.”

“What for?” He asked.

“I want a promotion— it’s— I need a promotion. And the Cobalt Soul values knowledge above anything else, so, hence the paper.” It wasn’t a lie, _technically_.

“And what does that have to do with rumors of strange things?”

She met his gaze, her own steadier than before. Something passed between the two of them in that moment, something unspoken that lead to him nodding at her.

“Right then,” he continued, “how was your journey here?”

Beau blinked slowly at Fjord for a moment. “What?”

“You’re Dwendalian, right? I’m thinkin’ most Cobalt Soul members are, or at least they live in the Empire for a few years. This your first stop to somewhere else?” He asked. After a moment of no response, he rolled his eyes at her. “We’re making conversation. This is how friendship happens. Or at least something that isn’t just bein’ strangers. Acquaintanceship. Roll with me here.”

“I mean, it was pretty shitty. It was cold and wet most of the way down. I’m, uh, liking it here a lot more, that much is for sure. Maybe I’ll stick around for a bit.” She shrugged.

He nodded along at that with some kind of Menagerie Coast pride. “And how ‘bout the people?”

“Uh. Well, fuck, they’re okay, I guess.”

“Weather?”

“Weather is happening.”

“And how are you?”

“Fine.”

“Okay. Why don’t we both agree to never try and hold a casual conversation again, and pretend this didn’t happen.” He stood quickly, and grabbed his drink as he went. “I’ve got someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

“Oh thank fuck.”

Beau took up her position a step behind Fjord once again as he made his way across the room, dropping his glass off at the bar and strolling up the stairs towards the back of the building. This lead the two to a floor made up entirely of expensive casual seating, and a series of closed doors. Fjord didn’t stop here, however, once again turning to journey up the final flight of stairs to the third floor.

This floor was similar to the last, although the number of doors looked to be half that of the second floor, despite being just as large. Where the previous level had kept a number of empty lounge chairs, this one had exactly two chairs, both of which were pushed to one far end of the hall. In them sat two of the most unique individuals Beau had ever laid eye on.

One, and there was no mistaking this, was an absolutely massive _minotaur_. Even sitting, bent slightly at the waist, Beau could tell that he towered over her. Despite clearly being made up entirely of bulging muscles, he wore a well-tailored shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and he held himself with a level of elegance that was beyond what Beau could expect from such a creature.

Sitting beside him, and seeming all the more small for it, was a deep blue tiefling whose movement was so animated that with every kick of her leg or gesture with her arm, her pale yellow dress, with all of its layers, went flying into the air around her. All of the energy in the room seemed to gravitate towards her at lightning speeds.

As Fjord and Beau approached, Beau could make out matching pink bows tied to the horns of both the minotaur and the tiefling. It took all she had not to laugh at that, and she hoped with everything that she was that Fjord hadn’t brought her all the way here to meet _these two_.

When the minotaur finally noticed the two approaching, the tiefling followed his gaze and turned to meet them with bright purple eyes.

“ _Fjord!_ ”

And then there was running and leaping into arms, and grunting with surprise on Fjord’s part, and fabric flying everywhere, and a tail whipping and hitting Beau in the face, though the tiefling didn’t seem to notice.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me you were in port, Fjord? How long have you been here? You’ve been here forever, haven’t you? I can’t believe you didn’t even think to send me a message!” She spoke quickly, and with another accent that lilted and tipped this way and that in a manner that Beau didn’t recognize and she decided to add dumbfounded to the list of things that she felt, right next to overwhelmed.

“Jester! Jester, calm down. You know I always come here first thing. I just got in, I swear,” Fjord said, muffled by the layers of dress that were now over the entirety of his head. He set her down and slowly went about pulling himself free from her clothes. It was only then that she noticed that Fjord hadn’t come alone.

And Beau got her first real look at her. (And what a gift it was, huge smile with dimples pulling at her cheeks and freckles dotted across her nose.)

Beau scratched and the fresh scar over her eye again, the scab now long gone.

“Jester, Beau. Beau, Jester,” Fjord gestured between the two.

“Nice to meet you, B _ouw_ h!” Jester’s tail flicked back and forth behind her as she held out a hand.

Beau wondered what she did to earn a curse from the gods to always, always get involved with the strangest groups, no matter where she went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned for more of me being punished by my own hubris (writing at 3 am and not spellchecking) & beau trying very hard


	3. meeting new people is strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet you thought you saw the last of me huh

Zeenoth had always said that Beau lacked the charm needed to be an Expositor. Something about how it always came down to how well you could convince those around you that you really, truly, were only after knowledge. That if you couldn’t do that, you were as good as dead.

Beau was going to show him. She could be plenty fucking convincing. _Charming_ , even.

So when Jester held out an uncalloused hand, she did what all charming folk did, and took it in her own rough palm. She kept steady eye contact with the tiefling and offered a lopsided grin. At that, something flashed behind Jester’s eyes and a ripple passed through her blue arm as her muscles tensed. Beau’s hand was quickly, but carefully, crushed within the tiefling’s grip. And almost excruciating pain.

(If she had counted, Beau would have found that she had lasted exactly three minutes in a life where she thought Jester was just a cute face.)

Jester’s smile grew wide enough to show her dangerously pointed teeth, and the dastardly glint in her eyes became more than apparent. Something Beau would have been able to acknowledge more, if she hadn’t become preoccupied with pulling her hand away and shaking feeling back into it.

“C’mon, Jester. Play nice,” Fjord said from behind Jester’s shoulder.

“I _am_ playing nice! Buuut, like, in a fun way, y’ _kno_ w?” At that, Jester took a jump back and bounced on her feet, “You’ve always got to be prepared for one of my _epic_ pranks! You never know when I’ll strike again!” She warned as she gave a few quick movements into the air in front of Beau, untrained boxer jabs flying.

“Is breaking my fingers really considered a prank?” Beau muttered beneath her breath.

There was a twitch of an ear under Jester’s hair in that moment, and her grin only stretched all the more. _So tieflings have good hearing, then. Great to know._

But she turned away from Beau in a heartbeat, energy never slowing, and faced Fjord with a tilt of her head. Did this girl ever stop moving? She seemed perpetually set to high speeds, from the way her tail whipped through the air and her weight shifted on the balls of her feet.

“Fjord, I thought we decided that we shouldn’t bring guests over. Did something happen?”

A deep shade of green spread over Fjord’s face at that, and Beau watched with a single lifted eyebrow as he dipped his head down and scratched at the back of his neck, “Ah, well, y’see… I had, ah…”

“Fjord. Did you forget about that _hour_ long talk that we had last time you were here?” Her face had fallen, and now Jester’s expression closed in on the most sour Beau had seen from her yet.

When the ground began to shake, Beau worried for a moment, just a moment, that this tiny tiefling that she had just met could somehow control the land itself. These worries were, of course, quickly dispelled as the absolutely _massive_ creature that Beau had all but forgotten made himself known to her once more.

“You should try not to forget something like that. It’s important.” The minotaur’s voice was a deep rumble when he spoke, matched only by his heavy steps as he approached.

“I know, Bluud. Just got a bit carried away. This one’s excitin’,” Fjord spoke quickly, raising his hands defensively as he turned to address the towering minotaur, “And! And… I’m not here for you, Jester. No offense.” He paused as he gestured back to Beau, who had already begun to feel nerves close in on her once more, “I’d like to speak to Marion, if that’s fine by you.”

Bluud let out a huff in response, which must have been some kind of secret way of saying yes, because he made his way to the nearest door with heavy steps. Now that she was able to truly take all of him in, he was even larger than Beau could have imagined. One arm alone must weigh as much as an entire normal cow… That was one hell of a… security detail? Butler? Assistant? Whatever he was, he was more than enough, that much was sure. And oh, fuck, he wasn’t wearing any pants. What the hell?

The knock that he gave the door was surprisingly light for a man of his size. There was another rumble of his voice as he spoke into the door, but he kept it low enough that Beau couldn’t make out the words before he stepped away and was silent once more.

A second later, and the door eased itself open enough to be welcoming, but not enough for Beau to see anything but bits of color on the other side.

At that, Fjord gestured at her to follow, and moved towards the room. All the while, Jester watched her with unrestrained curiosity but made no move to trail behind them. Bluud, on the other hand, seemed to have all but forgotten them both from where he had returned to his seat. The bow on his horn looked even more comical now, just knowing that he was letting everything down south just swing free.

When Fjord pushed the door open the rest of the way, Beau was met with a lavish (ha), yet simple room filled with a manner of expensive-looking bedroom details and the third tail she had seen on a humanoid today. Although this one was red. And attached to very shapely hips, which dipped and swayed to the sound of music that Beau couldn’t hear.

“Fjord! It has been a while. Give me just a moment here. My last client was, ah, left a bit of clutter, and I’ve still retained enough youth to clean up a few stray _toys_ , at the very least. How was your trip? Jester mentioned where you were off to, but you’ll have to forgive me— ah.” 

When the woman turned to face them, Beau promised herself that she would absolutely never, _ever_ , forget this moment, for it would be the first time that she had seen a goddess in the flesh. Or at least what Beau would come to believe they should look like.

For standing before her was the most beautiful woman Beau had laid eyes on. Long locks of deep red hair fell over the generously deep neckline of a black dress, golden ribbon braided carefully through the curls. Large horns stretched out from the already tall tiefling, reaching up and twisting around in spirals. Golden eyes assessed her with quick and trained precision, and Beau’s breath was stolen away, even as the hint of a mischievous smile fell from the woman’s face.

Ioun, her throat was dry. When did it get this hot? Was she dying? Melting from the face up? With every passing second, it felt more and more possible.

“When Bluud mentioned a guest, I thought…”

If Fjord was just as blown away by the beautiful tiefling, he didn’t show it as he pushed the door closed behind Beau. “I’m sorry, Marion. But I think you’ll like my present all same.”

Those gorgeous golden eyes flicked between the two of them in confusion now.

“Fjord, you know clients have to go—”

“No!” Fjord cut in, face turning a deep green once again. “She’s not— No. I was just— I was thinkin’ about the issue that you brought up a few months back. The job that you needed someone for? I’m stayin’ in town for a few weeks this go ‘round. Thought I could get ‘er done in the mean time. With a little bit of help.” At that, he gave Beau a weak slap on the back, causing her to jump.

Marion blinked at Fjord slowly before realization dawned on her face. She reached a hand up and tapped her chin, swaying slowly from side to side as she did. “Are you sure? You didn’t seem as willing the last time you were here. Did something change?”

“Something like that,” he sighed. “I have a good feeling about this one. Plus... Look,” Fjord gestured down to Beau’s sash, where the deep blue coloring stood out against the golds and reds and whites of the room.

Marion didn’t seem impressed, not even bothering to follow Fjord’s hand, and instead staying steady on his face. “You know that the Cobalt Soul has no reach in this regard, Fjord.”

Another sigh sounded from the sort-of-orc. Beau was beginning to think that his lungs had grown to encompass the entirety of his body with just how much the man sighed. “They want _knowledge_ , Marion. If we give them some, we might earn an ally in this.”

(Beau didn’t have the heart to tell him that she would be less than useful in an endeavour to get in the Cobalt Soul’s good graces. If she couldn’t get herself there, how could she manage an entire group?)

“He won’t be happy about you involving another party. Especially one that has worked so closely with the Crownsguard before.”

Beau wanted to cut in, to object, because the Crownsguard were only necessary for protection, to help the Expositors seek out justice and destroy corruption, to work to better society. But the words died on her tongue, because how could she preach something that she didn’t believe? She had seen the looks that the Crownsguard had given her before. Ones that told her that the second she put away her sash, they would not hesitate to take her down.

They weren’t there for protection. They were there to uphold the law, to monitor the monks. Never to help. That was part of the reason why she was here, wasn’t it? To work in relative secrecy. To show her blues and to move on before the watchful eye of the law caught up. Not because the Cobalt Soul had kicked her out, because of course they hadn’t. They wouldn’t. (They would, they had, and she knew this, felt it tickling in the back of her mind at the thought that they might show her mercy. The monks would not welcome her back with open arms, even if she did as they demanded. She would have to work for it.)

By the time she pulled out of her own thoughts, Beau’s eyes had already drifted down to her shoes and she felt all the more foolish for it. She blinked. Straightened her back. Looked anywhere but down, over the furniture in the room, so intricately woven and carved and painted to perfection. Over the walls, adorned with fancy paintings of places that she had never been and people she did not know. Over purple eyes that were trained on her. Over a closed glass door that lead out onto a— wait, what?

There. Between a wardrobe and a dresser, spread just far enough for her to see a small door cut into the wall, from where two bright eyes watched her intently.

Jester. Had she been watching her this whole time? Did Fjord know? Did Marion?

Were either aware of the deliberately hidden door that lead into this very room, inside of a building that Fjord implied to be heavily guarded? One that may be filled with any number of sensitive secrets?  
“... and even if that were the case, none of his people would be able to help. They aren’t trained for this, Marion.”

When their eyes met, Jester was the first to look away, and even with shadows covering her, Beau could see a faint purple rise up and over her face. And then she was gone, and the wall covered up the darkness as if it hadn’t been there at all.

Beau slowly dragged her gaze back to Marion, hoping that she had imagined the younger tiefling, if only to avoid having to help the Lavish Chateau with any security problems. What she found was _another_ set of eyes on her, whose owner had yet to respond to Fjord’s comment, and instead chose to stare at Beau with a strange and sudden interest.

Something about the shape of Marion’s eyes, the glint of curiosity behind it, the way her lip curled down at one corner, in the same way that another’s had tilted up… Oh.

Beau couldn’t help but raise a hand and point to the spot between the wardrobe and the dresser. “Your… daughter?”

Marion blinked quickly before she turned to follow Beau’s finger. There was a little intake of breath, and then an, “Oh dear.”

A tension had begun to fill the air at that, with Beau pointing at the hidden door, and Marion folding her arms closely to her chest. And Fjord slowly stepping between the two of them.

His shoulders had stiffened, his back had straightened, his jaw had clenched, all of which added up to him looking far more intimidating than he had a second ago, although he didn’t assume any kind of fighting position.

“Marion doesn’t have a daughter,” he warned.

“You mean to tell me that I’ve just hallucinated an entire person? _You_ were the one who introduced me to her. Right before you pulled me into a room and started talking about me like I wasn’t here,” Beau growled back. Her own stance had begun to mirror his as she rose up to meet him.

“She’s not—” Marion started, right as a loud _thump_ sounded from the door that Beau and Fjord had used to enter.

And then Jester was tumbling into the room, muttering curses and quick apologies.

“Oh mama, I—” Jester said quickly, and Beau could see Fjord slapping his hand to his face out of the corner of her eye, “—ma _aaa_ y have made a big mistake, maybe!”

“Jester, dear, come here. Were you using the door again? You _must_ be more careful. You know that there are better ways to eavesdrop, my love,” Marion sounded more tired than she had as she pulled Jester into her arms.

What tension had settled in the room all but dissipated at Jester’s arrival, and Fjord was far too busy pinching the bridge of his nose to be intimidating. Beau had stumbled across _something_ sensitive enough to warrant backlash, although she wasn’t sure what.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was that of Marion comforting Jester, and yes, Beau could see it even more now. The way their hair curled into the same shape at places, how their accents lilted and mimicked each other, although Marion’s seemed lighter than Jester’s. Even the rhythm with which their tails moved. Mother and daughter. A relationship Beau hadn’t seen like this in quite some time.

“So,” Beau said slowly, “care to explain why I almost just got my ass kicked?”

“I wouldn’t have kicked your butt—”

“I would have!” Marion piped up from behind Fjord.

“— it’s just a bit of a sore subject. Marion is a secretive person.”

“So,” Beau said again, eyebrow raised this time, “you decided to introduce me to Jester _right before_ introducing me to Marion, who shares suspiciously similar looks and, oh, I don’t know, _are both tieflings_?”

He dragged his hand down his face. “Yes?”

“I really hope you’re not supposed to be some kind of strategist, because that’s really sad, dude.”

“In my defense, most people don’t figure it out.”

Beau gestured down her sash. What the hell had her fellow monks done to ruin the reputation of the Cobalt Soul? Wasn’t there supposed to be some implied high level of intuition?

A laugh sounded from behind Fjord, so Beau stepped to one side to allow herself a better view of Jester from where she giggled in her mother’s arms. She certainly didn’t seem as upset as she had sounded when she came barreling into the room. “She r _ea_ lly got you there, Fjord.”

That earned a groan from the almost-orc, whose hand might just be glued to his own face. 

“Well, it looks like I don’t have much of a choice but to approve your journey now,” Marion added, “after all. A secret such as this is easiest kept when one’s life is at risk, isn’t it?”

“I’m really not sure that’s how it works, Marion.” The exhaustion in Fjord’s voice was apparent, but there was also a hopeful note in it as well.

“A bond forged in—” 

“Can someone explain to me what the fuck any of you are talking about right now?” Beau cut in before Marion could finish.

Marion and Fjord shared a look, and something must have been communicated through that alone, because the next thing she knew, Jester was grabbing her arm and pulling her along after the two as they made their way to a table at one side of the room. Once lead to the chair across from where Marion sat, Jester unceremoniously pushed Beau into it. And then promptly ignored the last free seat and instead sat herself on the table proper, tail swinging as she did so.

While she and Fjord had spoken earlier, Marion had spared little attention to Beau herself, up until the monk had noticed Jester. Now, Beau shifted uncomfortably under her steady gaze.

“We’d like to offer you a job of sorts,” Marion began. “We’ll pay you, of course, with gold,” she glanced over at Fjord, “and knowledge.”

Fjord picked up the thread from there. “Our coworker has gone missin’. A few weeks ago, in fact. He had been doing some… research for us, for a few months. You wanted to know if there were any weird happenings? Just so happens that he was the resident expert on that sort of thing, and that he was investigatin’ such a matter when we lost contact. My boss hasn’t made it a high priority matter, but I’m takin’ some leave at the moment, and he certainly wouldn’t mind if I got this done in the mean time. And you,” he continued, “could be of great assistance in this endeavor.”

Her mind worked in overtime as he spoke. There was something here. _There is something here._

Something that could be dangerous, by the sound of it. Something that had to do with a very secretive group, given how long it had taken for them to reveal these details. If they could be called that. It was still so vague, after all. A coworker? An organization of some kind. A sailor whose eyes shifted on their own, and a… courtesan. And her daughter. A nameless boss. A missing person. Strange events. There were puzzle pieces in front of Beau now, and she just had to figure out how they fit together.

She had to tread carefully. She knew little about this group that wanted to hire her, and they seemed to resist offering up any additional information. Caution. She had to show caution. Watch. Listen. Learn. Figure out if they were worth her trust, or if she should run while she still could. She had to ask more questions, she had to— 

“I’m in.”

(Low heat began to spread from the bag slung over her shoulder. She paid it little mind. After all, she had just accepted a potentially dangerous job, and it’s not like a little warmth had ever hurt anyone.)

Fjord let out a breath that Beau hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Fantastic. With the resources of the Cobalt Soul, this’ll be a piece of cake.”

Shit. “Right. The Cobalt Soul. Anything you need, I can get. If it’s nerdy. Like a book. Can do, definitely.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

If they had noticed the sweat that gently gathered at her brow, they didn’t have a chance to comment, because the next moment was filled with layers of dress flying as Jester twisted to land on her feet next to Marion.

“A _aaa_ nd! I’m coming too!”

“ _No._ ” Both Marion and Fjord said at once, with Marion reaching out to grab Jester’s hand.

“My darling Jester, you know that this isn’t the kind of job for you,” she said quietly. 

“But mama, shouldn’t we all be helping in any way that we can? I’m worried about _Youh_ sa.” With her brow furrowed just so, Jester looked almost— 

Fjord’s eyes narrowed at Jester. Then they flicked to Beau, who met his gaze. Then back to Jester. And back to Beau. Beau looked to Jester. Jester looked up from Marion’s eyes and met Beau’s. A triangle of glances, back and forth, with only Marion focused on one person. Fjord frowned.

“ _Yussa_ could use any help we can give him, Marion. Perhaps we can make an exception, but this once,” Fjord muttered.

Was Beau supposed to know someone named Yussa? Why had he put such an emphasis on the name? Why had Jester— and why had she— 

Something close to admiration filled Beau when it hit her, as it had hit Fjord just seconds before. Jester was doing this on purpose. Oh, that mischievous little tiefling. That tug at the side of her mouth that lead to a sly smirk. The way her pointed ears twitched just so, flicked to acknowledge Beau, and maybe even confirm it.

She had let the secret of her parentage out on purpose. She had let the name _Yussa_ slip on purpose. This tiny, ridiculously strong tiefling had dropped a trail of breadcrumbs behind her, just so Beau could follow along. Jester was going out of her way to give Beau more hints. The _why_ was still unclear, but no matter the reason, it was obvious now that Jester knew exactly what she was doing, and exactly how to string Marion and Fjord along.

If this was what their youngest member was like, then who the hell had Beau just gotten involved with? 

Marion sighed. “Fine. You will keep a close eye on her, won’t you, Fjord?”

“Of course, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of letting her out of my sight.” He gave Jester a pointed look, whose only response was to stick her tongue out at him.

Whoever these people were, Beau was tied to them now.


End file.
